


Account Balance

by Himmelreich



Category: Baccano!
Genre: Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-09 23:54:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7822153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Himmelreich/pseuds/Himmelreich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>What qualified as “not that long ago” would, no doubt, soon become a vague concept at best among the clientele frequenting this establishment. For him and the man sitting hunched over the table in front of him, it already was.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Account Balance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mako_lies (wingeddserpent)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingeddserpent/gifts).



> A request for these characters was just too tempting to pass up, sorry! I hope this is at least a bit to your liking;; Also, my knowledge of the novels is patchy at best, so apologies to those in the known for any inaccuracies ┐(‘～`；)┌

The light within Alveare was tinged a hazy blue with cold smoke, the air heavy with the mixed scent of honey and alcohol that was so characteristic of the place, as Ronnie made his way over to one of the booths in the far back. He could still pick up on the faintest traces of the smells of gunpowder, sawdust and fresh paint, too, proof that the remodelling necessary after _that_ incident hadn’t been completed that long ago after all.

Then again, what qualified as “not that long ago” would, no doubt, soon become a vague concept at best among the clientele frequenting this establishment. For him and the man sitting hunched over the table in front of him, it already was.

Ronnie cleared his throat, and Maiza practically jolted in his seat, blinking at him in momentary confusion. Shadows and lines on his face spoke of a lack of sleep and abundance of thought, and Ronnie would have said it made the man look older than he was had that not been such a blatant lie, technically.

 

“Miss Lia told me you were still here. Seems she didn’t want to disturb you.”

That was true, but of course it wasn’t as if he actually needed someone to tell him Maiza’s whereabouts. Even though he had only offered the wish to Elmer in a passing fancy and out of mere boredom, he was keeping up his end of the bargain diligently. He told himself he didn’t have anything better to do, so why not?

Not that it cost him a lot of effort, either - expanding his consciousness just enough beyond that of a human being to make the alchemist a constant faint presence on his mind, akin to someone familiar you might spot from the corner of your eye in passing, that sort of thing came as easy to him as breathing. Arguably easier, given he didn’t necessarily need to do the latter anymore.

 

Maiza cast a look at his watch and groaned. As he leaned back in his seat, he started collecting the papers spilled out on the table. Ronnie caught glimpses of long equations, but, alas, not of the variety of his original expertise.

“I completely lost track of time. She should have said something, I didn’t mean to keep her. I’ll be out in a minute.”

“I already sent her home and said I’d lock up for once,” Ronnie said, jingling the ring of keys he had received for emphasis before pocketing them and, with a certain amount of amusement, added: “You do know that’s the kind of thing you should be doing in the office, right.”

“I prefer the atmosphere here.” Maiza smiled fondly, before his tone shifted to slightly more sarcastic. “Also, I doubt that any outsider would take thoughts on how to deal with the settlements and security for immortal employees and their families as anything else than a clear sign that the Martillo’s bookkeeper officially lost it.”

 

Seeing how they were the last ones around and a few more minutes wouldn’t matter, Ronnie sat down on the bench opposite Maiza, observing him with mild interest.

“So that’s what you were doing.”

“It feels like the least I can offer, given both my position and personal experience.”

All traces of good humour had disappeared from Maiza’s face, and he sighed as he reached for his glass, still half full, and took a sip.

“I see you still don’t truly believe people can simply be happy about being immortal.” Given that only prompted a mirthless chuckle in response, he continued. “Putting aside your tendency to expect the worst possible outcome, isn’t it fine if they enjoy it for the time being? Painting their future in dark colours of regret and death wishes won’t help them any, Maiza.”

“I know, but it’s impossible not to worry. They’re family and thinking they might go through the same thing we did-”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Ronnie didn’t add _this time,_ but he didn’t need to read the other’s mind to know he would surely think of it that way himself. No matter how often Ronnie had told him that what happened aboard the ship, too, had been cause of multiple people’s decisions and choices, Maiza insisted that by virtue of having been the summoner, he was the principal one to blame. As if that changed anything.

 

No-one could have forseen what went down between Chicago and New York, either. As for the aftermath, Ronnie was mildly surprised Maiza didn’t blame him for neglecting to point out just what had been in the bottles served at the ceremony. Surely, he must have realised by now that he had been aware, so in a roundabout way, the newfound immortality of this colourful array of gangsters was on him.

Where exactly Maiza drew the line between clinging on to revenge and being all-forgiving was actually quite difficult to predict. With how hateful he had been of Szilard in the past, his suicidal acceptance in the end would never have occurred to Ronnie as a likely finish line of this story in the past. But then again, death at his fellow alchemist’s hands would have reunited him with his brother, in a slightly macabre way, so it should have been well within Ronnie’s calculations.

If this had been the outcome, would he have chosen to follow even the last remnant of the person he had promised to observe, nothing more than a silent voice in someone else’s mind? Or considered his job done and let himself dissolve again into the very fabric of the world until someone called for him? He had thought about it in retrospect, and to his bemusement, found he had no clear answer.

“Thanks.”

 

It was hardly convincing, but it wasn’t as if he had truly expected to fundamentally change anything about the man’s guilt complex with just a few words. Maybe Firo would eventually prove to him that he was wrong, but only time would tell. Of that, he had more than enough, and he didn’t mind waiting.

Maiza took off his glasses to rub his eyes in obvious exhaustion. By now, the city outside was long since dipped in the weak grey light of a winter morning. Say whatever they want about New York, no-one except himself could actually survive without sleeping, so Ronnie pulled the glass from Maiza’s lax grip, finishing the drink in one gulp, and stood up.

“Come on, I’ll get you home before you pass out.”

Maiza got to his feet with the stiff movements of someone who had sat in one place to long and gathered up his files and coat.

“Ah, I don’t want to inconvenience you, I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t mind.” Ronnie picked up Maiza’s hat, dusting it off before handing it over. “I don’t have anywhere else to be, so I might as well accompany you.”

 

A moment of silence followed as Maiza looked straight at him, expression uncharacteristically devoid of his usual underlying kindness. Maybe he considered his words more in depth - Ronnie could be wherever he wanted, whoever he wanted, any physical form or none, swap his current position for a young lady or an influential businessman on the other side of the globe in the blink of an eye if he pleased, and yet he chose to stay. That kind of presence and power would probably be scary to most, and unsettling to the rest.

Then, the other man smiled.

“If that is so, I’ll take full advantage of your offer as long as you’ll let me.”

As they stepped out onto the street, Maiza blinking against the sudden shift in brightness before returning the wave of an acquaintance across the street, Ronnie caught himself feeling unusually content. This place, its people, their antics, their pull that kept dragging other into their strange adventures had managed to intrigue him beyond his expectations, clearly. He wasn’t accountable, he didn’t owe Elmer anything - it was his own choice not to leave, for whatever that might be worth.

 

He would have an infinity to ponder over his strange attachment to these people, and this person in particular, once it was all over, and even if he would never find an answer, well, it wouldn’t matter.


End file.
